In Your Own Words

7. SUBJECT: YOU WIN

It is not, and I cannot stress this enough, not romantic. This is not Harry and Sally. Or Monica and Chandler (or anybody else from that show.) We are the most aggressively platonic people to have ever existed.

Simon and I met in freshman year when we were both fragments of the people we would become. His room was across the hall from mine when we lived in the dorms.

My roommate had a boyfriend and would kick me out of the room when he was over (she caught him staring at me and lost her mind.)

I was asked to leave our room fairly often.

One afternoon, I was sitting in the hall, reciting Latin verbs for my linguistic class when Simon's door swung open.

"Are you on the floor? That can't be comfortable," he said, smiling good naturedly.

Then he told me I could come to his room to study. And because the invitation was devoid of anything other than sincere kindness, I did. I sat on his bed and did homework while he played a game on his computer.

"Is the noise bothering you?" he asked.

"No. She has a nice voice." I assumed he was talking about the program that verbally explained what was on the screen and his options, rather than the sound effects of the game itself.

Simon needs the program to accommodate his blindness.

"You're Cassandra, right? You live across the hall."

I went to nod without thinking. Nodding doesn't work if the person can't see. "Cassie. Yes."

We hardly spoke at first, but after the third time it happened, 'it' being my exile, he started to talk to me. It was gradual and gentle, as if he knew he might spook me.

"Where did you go to high school?" "What do you want be when you grow up?" "Have you ever travelled?"

This went on for a couple of weeks.

He told me about himself, too. Simon talked about his program (engineering), his family (who are exceptionally nice for rich people), his friends (who are OK), his interests (baseball and computer games), and his girlfriend (Sarah).

Simon was, and is, madly in love with his girlfriend, Sarah Wong. Luckily, she tolerates me.

Once upon a time, when Simon was fifteen years old and starting to lose his vision, he went to the hospital for a final evaluation before surgery.

On his way out, he bumped (literally) into a girl who was visiting somebody irrelevant.

He apologized and explained he could barely see anymore.

She laughed and said that that explained why his clothes didn't match. It didn't though, because according to his mother, Mrs. Idzik, Simon has never, and will never, know how to dress himself.

He and Sarah talked for twenty minutes and Simon walked away with her phone number.

That was six years ago, and they will probably be married and have 2.5 kids within the next six.

I'm lucky that Sarah doesn't mind me being around her boyfriend. He's held my hand and guided me through the last three and a half years. He introduced me to all of his friends. He brought me along to football games and taught me to play chess when I refused to go out. He lets me come home with him for Thanksgiving and Christmas. He convinces me to read my work at cafes' open mic nights.

When we started spending time together I figured he wanted something from me. Actually, I thought he was trying to sleep with me. It took a while, but it became clear that Simon is unabashedly good. He's never told me so, but I think he felt sorry for me. It's fine if he did; I honestly don't care where his motivation came from.

He showed me what it looked like to love someone unconditionally, and in doing so, tricked me into loving him back.

Simon comes with an extension; he has a guide dog, Hank. Hank is a gorgeous retriever/lab mix who, like me, knows that Simon hung the moon. Simon brought Hank into our lives two years ago.

It was easier to love the second time around.

Even though Hank and Simon belong to each other, that dog is my most trusted confidant. Not that I don't trust Simon and Sarah... I just think that Hank offers something different.

Hank is probably the only thing that reminds me of Simon's blindness. Once you spend some time with him, it's easy to forget that he can't see. He took to braille pretty quickly, and he's been teaching me---I still suck at it. Usually, we text. Simon uses the dictation function or has his phone read texts back to him when he's trying to be more discrete, like in class. He nearly always has earbuds. He's fairly fast at typing and texting. We've timed ourselves in the past, both on our phones and keyboards, and he's beaten me more than once.

When I found out about the book deal last semester, Simon, and by extension Sarah, were the family with whom I shared the news. The two of them spent hours making a fancy dinner for me to celebrate.

Over dinner, I explained that my male narration had been labelled insufficient. "It's mostly rewriting. Will you help me fix Braiden's parts?" I asked, helping myself to another serving of Sarah's homemade gnocchi.

Simon shook his head and gave me a grim smile. "Sorry. But I have a lot of work to do with my internship and classes. I just don't have the time right now. Besides, I'm hardly anything like the guy in your book."

He had a point.

"Who else am I going to ask, Simon? I can't go up to someone on the street and ask some random guy for insight."

Simon frowned. "You could probably hire someone. Like the research studies some students do at the lab. Pay someone to answer your questions and help you with the book."

"I don't know, that seems risky," I said, knowing I was resisting a potential solution.

"Do it over email, or use a message system," Sarah suggested.

I thought about this. "It would be a pretty big commitment."

"Pay per email," said Simon getting more excited. "Or per word like a newspaper. You should talk to Mike."

Mike, you'll remember, is my editor.

The more I thought about it, the fewer excuses I had. "I'll think about it."

"You need to start making things happen for yourself, Buddy. A pretty face and bad attitude won't get you to the finish line." Simon only calls me Buddy when he's trying to reason with me.

I scoffed. "You don't know what I look like."

"No, but I know that this means a lot to you. I also know that this makes sense. Besides, it might be good for you to get to know somebody outside the two of us."

"I talk to Julie," I said defensively, "and I talk to Hank!" Hank, who was without his harness and sitting under the table at our feet, barked in confirmation.

"You work with Julie. You need to really talk to someone, a person, Cass. Find someone who will answer all your questions, and who knows, maybe they'll help more than just your book."

So, Weston Maguire, I found you. I hope you'll consider writing back to me.

Happy Valentine's day.

Best,

Cassie

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